


The Lion Codex

by WelcomeToTheFrogParade



Series: The Alchemist Chronicle [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Auror Harry Potter, Drarry, M/M, Mystery, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:34:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27846134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WelcomeToTheFrogParade/pseuds/WelcomeToTheFrogParade
Summary: We continue where we left off at the end of A Handful of Snakes. It's Christmas Eve, six years after the events that lead Harry and Draco to become a couple. Just as Harry is about to retire from his work as an Auror and he and Draco hope they might start a more peaceful chapter in their lives, Harry receives word that the priceless amulet Draco gifted to Dobby in his death is being pursued by the adopted heir of the Malfoy family, now residing in Russia. It's now up to Harry and Draco to find out the heir's identity before he finds them, or the amulet.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: The Alchemist Chronicle [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2038294
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	1. A Murder Unexpected

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the second part of the Alchemist Chronicle series!  
> If you're new to this series, I recommend starting with the first part, A Handful of Snakes. As usual, if you have any comments/questions regarding this series, feel free to send me an ask on Tumblr. My handle there is welcometothefrogparade.

Draco had never had such a stressful time packing his things. This was nothing like packing for any other trip he and Harry had gone on, because those trips usually got delayed at least two times, leaving Draco with plenty of opportunity to rethink which books he wanted to bring. Although, this didn't seem like the occasion to bring literature. Or was it? The plan was to go into hiding in some secret Ministry place in Denmark, but Harry wasn’t sure how long they would be able to stay there. 

Draco envied Harry, who out of well-formed habit had thrown his Gryffindor Quidditch Team duffel bag onto the bed and filled it quickly, not hesitating a single item. He had taken some clothes, but not enough to indicate a long absence; he had taken his toothbrush, a journal where he kept track of his cases, two or three potions and not much else. Harry, of course, was used to this sort of thing, having spent a considerable amount of his life on the run either from his aunt and uncle or snatchers or Voldemort, or all of them, not to mention the numerous work-related trips he had to go on. 

Often Draco was tempted to guilt Harry about being away so much, but even more often he found himself unable to. There was something about a feeling of urgency and threat that seemed to bring Harry alive somehow. The mental struggles he had faced during their time at Darthorn were now far in the past, and unfortunately some of Harry’s transparency had disappeared with them. It was a trait Draco had found very attractive about him. The way his temper riled up, or his smile when he was happy, even his panic. He had lived on extremes, that boy. But he was twenty-seven years old now, and he had learned to self-regulate. Or perhaps it just wasn’t Draco who got to see that side of him, now. Maybe it was the other Aurors or the criminals Harry chased or Ron, whenever the two of them met up for pints after Ron had won an important game. Either way, it was Draco who got the worn-down Harry, the mildly stressed Harry, the content but not beaming-Harry. And maybe that was for the best. 

It wasn’t as if Draco hadn’t changed, too. He had become nothing short of best friends with Hermione Granger over the years, and these days he was proud to say he was more than tolerant of even Ron, who often asked Draco to be his practice opponent before important tournaments. Naturally, these games were played on Ron’s chess board that had once belonged to his grandfather. Draco had told him to get himself a new one for years, but Ron didn’t want to hear it. In fact, it was Draco who had given him the idea of going into Wizard’s Chess more seriously, and it was Draco his mother sent tarts to every time Ron moved up a rank in the national - or international - listings. At his current rank, the winning rewards were enough that he had been able to quit his part-time job at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes and throw himself into chess completely. Over time, he had become esteemed enough as a player that he had even given a few inspirational lectures at Hogwarts at McGonagall’s request. For this, no one was more excited than Hermione. For her, seeing Ron so committed to something that he was willing to read books with barely any pictures in them, had apparently awakened such a deep attraction to the man that she had had no choice but to have a baby with him. 

In that way, Draco was still the same. He wasn’t particularly fond of children, he wore carefully chosen black turtlenecks and the same swept-back haircut he had sported for years, he was reserved, easily jealous and enjoyed life most when he had a good book in one hand and Harry pressed against his side. It was work papers instead of comic books that Harry read now, but this habit of reading together was one they had managed to hold onto over the years. 

Perhaps that was why it felt so impossible for Draco to leave without a single book. In the end, he chose a worn-down copy of Flowers for Algernon, which Draco had enchanted to also contain some Murakami short stories and a collection of cheap crime novels. He would have called the latter a guilty pleasure if he hadn’t decided to discontinue feeling guilty for trivial things a few years back. It had been a champagne-drunk pact he had made with Hermione, and secretly he had kept it.

“Ready to go?” 

“Yeah,” Draco said. It was only now that he noticed the knocking on the window. 

“It’s a Ministry owl,” Harry said, grabbed both of their bags and headed downstairs. “Let’s go.” 

“What if it’s important?”

“It’s my supervisor telling me to stay away from the Malfoy case,” Harry said. They stood in front of the fireplace and he took a handful of Floo powder. “Arthur has a portkey prepared for us. Ready?”

“I thought we weren’t going to the Burrow.”

“We’re not. Not like we’d like to, anyway. We can’t stay there long.”

The Weasleys were there in the living room waiting for them, too many of them to list. Hermione and Fleur with her and Bill’s three children were there, and Angelina (George’s wife, along with their two children, Fred and Roxanne), Percy’s wife Audrey and their two children, Molly and Lucy, and really, due to the number of children and people running around after them, Christmas was slowly starting to resemble the Quidditch World Cup. The mood, at least, was one of equal anticipation. The silence that fell when Harry and Draco arrived revealed that their situation had been the main topic of discussion before their arrival. 

Molly, as usual, showed a brave face and rushed to pat their backs and kiss their cheeks, somehow holding three grandchildren at once, but it wasn’t enough to hide the fact that even she was tense. All the children then ran to greet Harry and Draco (who they all called uncles, which gave Draco a mild quarter life-crisis every time), and once their interest in them had expired (this didn’t take many minutes), they ran off like a babbling, bumbling band of baboons, or whatever it was that McGonagall had once said. It was only then that Draco noticed how grim everyone looked. 

“Did you get an owl, too?” Was the first thing that Arthur Weasley said to them. 

Everyone’s eyes were on Draco and Harry, and now Draco turned to look at Harry too. Apparently the owl _had_ been important. If Harry had just listened…

“They didn’t sack us, did they?” Harry said. “There was an owl just as we were leaving, but I didn’t-”

“No,” Arthur said, “nothing like that. They sent one to everyone who has children at Hogwarts.” 

“We got a whole parliament,” George said, but only his wife chuckled. “You know, a flock of owls is called… Ah, nevermind.”

“What’s happened?” Harry said. 

“Do you remember professor Toadsworth?” Ron said. He crossed his arms and stepped forward from the ranks of his siblings. He was wearing a knitted jumper with a checkered pattern that looked like a great prompt for an instant headache. I was most likely an early Christmas present from Molly.

“How could I not?” Harry said. “She taught us- well, me, for…”

“From year three,” Ron nodded. “She’s dead.”

“Murdered,” George said. “They found her this morning in the courtyard. Poor bugger… The killing curse by the looks of it, from what I hear. It was Rolf Scamander that found her.”

“What?” Harry’s shoulders tensed.

“What was she doing at Hogwarts?” Draco said. “What was _Rolf_ doing at Hogwarts?” 

“Apparently headmaster McGonagall had invited both of them there to discuss teaching positions,” Arthur said. “They still haven’t found a competent Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, and the Scamander boy was there to discuss the Magizoology post.”

“But Hagrid teaches that,” Harry said with an absent voice, his brows creasing in a frown. Draco could almost hear cogs turning inside his head. 

“Charlie said he’s managed to get on the headmaster’s bad side,” Percy said. “I can’t say I didn’t see it coming. There’s been talk at the Ministry-”

“Where is Charlie, anyway?” 

It was only when Harry said that that Draco noticed his absence. Draco had trouble keeping count of the Weasleys, even more so as the grandchildren grew in numbers. 

“Taking care of the Catalonian Fireball chick they found on Hagrid from what I hear,” George said.

“I still can’t believe he didn’t learn his lesson after what happened with Norbert,” Hermione sighed. 

“Norberta,” George corrected. “Not to impose gender roles on it, but... Boy, is that creature vicious. Charlie has a new scar every time I see him. Harry's got nothing on him.” 

“Who did they send to investigate?” Harry said, directing his question to Arthur. 

The man sighed and gave an apologetic smile.

“Can you guess?” 

For a moment, it was quiet. Draco's heart sank as he realized the situation, and just like he always did when he was taken aback, he started stumbling over his words.

“Surely they don’t expect Harry to- at a time like this-”

“They’re just trying to keep him occupied while they try to figure out the Malfoy situation,” Arthur said. “Luckily, I’m the only one who knows you had the Wadjet at one point.” 

“Not anymore you’re not,” Draco said dryly, glancing at all the people present.

“What I’m saying is, if they knew, they would send you to a safe house all alone while they tried to work the situation out. Which would take a while, especially since it’s technically unethical to let Harry interfere with a case concerning his father-in-law’s family.”

The thought of Draco’s father being called that silenced him for a bit, and it seemed to have the same effect on the others. 

“I actually don’t think the idea is half-bad,” Arthur said. “What could be a safer place for you to hide?” 

“I don’t exactly recall Hogwarts as a safe place,” Draco said. “The latest body isn’t even cold.”

“The place will be swarming with Ministry officials,” Arthur said. “I think it’s the best option you two have right now.” 

Draco gritted his teeth. If there was one place he didn’t want to be at Christmas, it was Hogwarts. 

Harry must have realized this.

“I can’t very well solve two cases at once," he said. "Besides, what's the point of assigning me with a new case when I'm supposed to retire any day now?"

“I wouldn’t go against your supervisor if I were you,” Percy said. “Why do you even insist on taking care of this yourself? If Spencer knew that father gave you the Malfoy file-”

“-which is precisely why you must go,” Arthur said. “It will be suspicious if you refuse now, it will seem like you know something you're not supposed to.”

Harry looked at Draco, and from his expression Draco realized there was really starting to be no choice left.

“At least the roast’s good,” George pointed out.

“For what it’s worth, I think you should go, too,” Hermione said. She probably didn’t realize it, but she was holding a hand to her stomach. “There can’t have been many people left at Hogwarts yesterday. Rolf might even be a suspect, and with the wedding and all, I just think…”

Draco had completely forgotten around the wedding, but now that he was reminded, he too started to see the severity of the situation for Rolf and Luna. They had sent Harry and Draco an invitation, too, and to Draco’s horror the date for the celebration had been set to February 14th. Was there anything more kitsch than a wedding on Valentine’s Day? Or maybe it was that the uncomfortable feeling Draco had gotten while reading the invitation hadn't been because of the disapproval of his (undeniably) superior taste, but because in that moment, he had envied the couple for their sentiment. Either way, there would be no such wedding if the murder wasn’t solved, fast. 

“Alright,” Draco said. “We’ll go.” 

“Good,” Arthur said. “Very good.”

“Then we must leave now,” Harry said, putting his hand in the pockets of his winter uniform trench coat. “If someone is after us, I’d rather not have their search lead here.” 

“What’s this Wadjet business, anyway?” George said, ignoring Harry’s attempt at departure. “Why so much fuss over a necklace?"

"It's an ancient Egyptian amulet," Draco said. "It's the next best thing there is to a Philosopher's Stone."

"You mean it makes the wearer immortal?" George asked.

"Something like that," Draco said. "It's not as good as it sounds, believe me. If I had known better, I would have destroyed it when I had the chance."

"I doubt you would have been able to," Bill Weasley said. "If it's one of the three ancient Wadjets I heard about when I was working in Egypt-"

Bill's voice was interrupted by a loud clanger from the kitchen, followed by children yelling over each other. 

“Merlin’s beard - William Weasley, if you don’t tell Victoire to stop climbing the shelves in my pantry-”

“Who says it’s her?” Bill exclaimed after his mother as she rushed into the kitchen.

“Because it always has to be one of ours,” Fleur said quietly, rolling her eyes. 

"There's no time for this right now," Harry said, visibly uncomfortable. "I'll find out who killed professor Toadsworth and figure… Figure this thing out. I'll send an owl here when it's safe to contact us."

“Yes, it’s best you take your leave now,” Arthur said. 

“Stay safe,” Hermione said and hugged them both, Draco a little longer. 

“Did you tell them yet?” Draco whispered to her. 

Hermione smiled and shook her head in a small gesture. 

“Later. When it’s a happier day.”

Draco nodded as he pulled back.

“Stay safe,” Hermione said again. “I don’t know why, but I have a feeling you’ll be gone a while.” 

Then, Draco took a handful of Floo powder from the bowl on the mantle.

Harry was already about to say "Hogwarts" when Draco touched his arm to interrupt him.

"We should get the Wadjet first," he said quietly. "It's too close to Shell Cottage."

"But how would he ever find out where we hid it?"

"You don't know what kind of resources that family has," Draco said under his breath, glancing at the Weasleys, who were all watching the silent conversation. "If my father is at all involved, he could have found a magical object or spell that can track it. For all we know, it could already be too late. We have to get it while Bill and Fleur and the children are still here."

"Alright," Harry said after a moment of contemplation. "But we can't apparate to Hogwarts from there."

"Then we'll apparate to Hogsmeade. What difference does it make at this point?"

"It's just… Are you sure about this? If we have the Wadjet on us, we'll be in far greater danger. If word gets out about such a thing being in the country, who knows who will try to-"

"Would you rather it be them?" Draco said, nodding at the Weasleys behind them. Harry looked at Draco. Then he turned to look at the family and said:

"Alright, cover your ears. It's best none of you know where we stopped on the way." 

There, tucked within a patch of reeds, stood the small tombstone, just like before. Draco let out a breath he had been holding when he saw it looked untouched, as if not even the wind had moved the sands since their last visit six years ago. Still, the place was haunted by an eerie atmosphere, and the salty winds seemed to carry whispers with them. Perhaps that was what all graves were like. Draco hadn’t seen many in his lifetime. The only one he paid regular respects to was the one in the garden around the Burrow, the one that was always covered in fresh flowers. Whenever he stood in front of it, often with Molly and sometimes on his own, he couldn’t help but think of other people, not just the man buried there. People who hadn’t been granted the dignity of a burial, people who had met their fate on the dining table in the manor Draco had called home as a child, and been devoured there by a slithering beast, right in front of his eyes. And the others. Just watching. Whenever he came to think of those times, Draco had to pinch his eyes shut and tell himself that those people, the dead ones, were probably at peace now. But even so, he couldn’t help but wonder if the afterlife for someone like them was different than to a man like Fred Weasley, who was loved fiercely by so many people, even in his death. 

The rain had caught Harry and Draco by surprise, and by the time either of them had managed to charm an umbrella existence, they were both completely soaked. The sea wind was harsh that night, ruthless, and Draco had to turn his back to it just to be able to breathe. If there was such a thing as the appropriate weather to be digging around at old graves, this wasn’t it. Draco cast _lumos_ , but that only made seeing more difficult. 

“Should we try _accio_?” Harry said. 

Draco doubted it would work, but the wind was howling in his ears so loudly he couldn’t bother to overpower it with his opinion. 

“ _Accio Wadjet_ ,” Harry said, and nothing happened.

Draco crouched in front of the grave, stuffed his gloves inside the pockets of his coat and started brushing away the wet sand. It got under his fingernails and under the cuffs of his shirt, and as the rain pounded against his face, he felt Harry’s presence behind him and was taken over by an unexplainable fit of annoyance. 

“Would it kill you to hold that over me, too?” 

“Oh- sorry,” Harry said and leaned closer, holding his wand so that it now shielded Draco from the rain. 

It didn’t take Draco long to come across a triangular form within the dirt, its metal frame cool against his fingers, even colder than the winter earth. Draco pulled out the Wadjet, the long chain trailing after it. He had hoped never to see it again, but holding it now, he couldn’t deny that it was a beautiful thing, even though it was covered in mud. He brushed some of it off, and now it looked as if the eye of Horus fixed its gaze upon him.

“ _Scourgify,_ ” Draco said, his wand making an S-shape in the air without him thinking about it, as was the case with most of the spells he used daily. 

Now that it was clean, Draco could bear to look at the Wadjet even less. He lifted the chain over his head and tucked the amulet under his clothes. 

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to wear it?” Harry said as Draco got up and used Scourgify on his hands.

“What’s the worst thing that could happen?” Draco said. “I might not die if I splinch, but that’s about all I can think of.”

“But don’t you think… Since it’s clearly the making of a Dark Arts practitioner…”

“That it might be cursed somehow?”

“Yeah. These sort of things tend to come with side effects.” 

“I guess we’ll find out. I’m not about to just keep it in my pocket, it’s not safe.”

“With the price of that coat I wouldn’t think it bold to assume the pockets don’t tear,” Harry noted. 

Draco smiled.

“That may be, but even this coat doesn’t come with a ward against pickpockets,” he said.

“Fair point.”

“Shall we, then?” Draco said and held out his hand. Harry took it.

“To Hogsmeade. Are you… Ready to go back?” 

“Ready? Like hell I am.” 

And with that, they disapparated. 

  
  



	2. We Children of the War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry returns to Hogwarts to investigate the murder of professor Toadsworth, only now he has Draco with him at work. Keeping things professional could prove a problem to some in that situation, but not to Harry, surely?

"Ah, the Potters. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Draco and Harry lingered around the doorway of McGonagall’s office. It seemed neither of them was quite willing to take the initiative of stepping inside.

"Hullo, ma'am”, Harry said, “we - did the officials not tell you I was assigned the case of Professor Toadsworth?"

"My, they certainly did,” McGonagall said, and Draco remarked that a certain hoarseness, perhaps induced by old age, had come to be in her voice. Even so, it held all the power of its days of prime, if not more. The Headmistress continued.

“However, I was beginning to doubt whether you would do us the honour of appearing within these grounds before New Year's. I am sorry to say it, Mr. Potter, but timing has never been your strong suit."

"My apologies, ma'am, we-"

"Do you intend to stand there in the doorway throughout the endurance of this conversation?"

Draco and Harry glanced at each other. An aura of feeling like mere schoolboys again was about the air. It certainly seemed like they had just been invited to come in and sit down, so they did so, and the Headmistress gave a small nod of approval. Still, her lips were pursed together in a narrow line, and her eyes darted from one man to the other. Draco doubted she had been so on edge since the Battle of Hogwarts.

"The blame for our late arrival should be placed on me," Draco said. "There was an errand I had to tend to before we could come here." 

"I see," McGonagall said, leaning tensely back in her chair, as if she were wearing a tightly laced garment under her robes. "And do you often accompany Mr. Potter when he is at work, Mr…"

"Black," Harry said. "Draco's mother's maiden name, as I'm sure you know. I have been known to work long hours, but even I couldn't leave my husband alone on Christmas. I hope you will permit him being here, ma'am." 

"Well, I doubt it's for me to approve," she said. "There's a Ministry official for every brick in this castle now, it seems. Peeves tricked a handful of them too close to the Whomping Willow, and I haven't heard the end of it since. You can rest assured Madam Pomfrey is taking good care of the gentlemen, and tell that to the boy who threatened to file a complaint to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Have you ever heard anything so ridiculous? The Whomping Willow is a tree, you'd have to be blind to think otherwise." 

“You're quite right,” Harry said. “I hope you are well, or as well as the circumstances would allow you to be.” 

“I’m fantasizing of retirement, if you truly wish to know. But unless I am gravely mistaken, you haven’t been summoned here to discuss the inner workings of my mind.” 

“Yes, you’re quite right. I wouldn’t want to keep you from your duties any longer than is necessary.” 

Harry pulled a journal from the breast pocket of his uniform coat, and clicked the end of the ballpoint pen which he used to write in it. The click made McGonagall flinch slightly, as it was likely she had never seen such an object before. 

“Professor Toadsworth was here to discuss the Defence Against the Dark Arts position, yes?”

“Correct. As I’m sure you’re aware, the rumour that the position is cursed lives on. It’s a rather slim pick, whenever I am forced to make one. A tragedy like this will only add fuel to the fire, I’m sure.” The Headmistress rubbed the bridge of her nose and removed her reading glasses, placing them on the desk in front of her.

“What was your impression of Toadsworth?” 

To that, McGonagall shrugged.

“I didn’t know her. I extended an offering to three persons I found eligible for the position, and she was the only one that was willing. It surprised me, I must say. Professor Abboud from Darthorn, who is an old student of mine, told me Toadsworth had been planning her retirement for years, and that not much could be expected from her.”

“Perhaps she thought teaching the Auror trainees too intense?” Draco said. 

“Perhaps,” McGonagall said, “but if she thought teaching at this school would feel leisurely in comparison, I’m afraid she was mistaken.” 

“How did you become aware of her death?” Harry asked. 

“It was only a moment after I had interviewed Mr. Scamander, whom I had also invited here that day. He left my office and ran back in a few minutes later, pale as a ghost. He said he had found Toadsworth laying in the corridor, lifeless.”

“And you had already interviewed Toadsworth before Rolf Scamander?”

“Indeed.”

“What did you discuss?”

“The school, the position, the students and the rules… A conversation I had hoped I would have with yourself some day, Potter.”

Draco glanced at Harry, but his expression remained unchanged. 

“Did anything about Toadsworth strike you as odd? Anything that she said, or her mannerisms, perhaps…”

“She was very short and observant,” McGonagall said. “I hadn’t expected her to have such a thick foreign accent after having taught in London for so long, but other than that…” 

McGonagall tilted her head, staring at the air in front of her, probably reviewing an event in her memory.

Harry leaned forward.

“Yes?” He said.

“She didn’t look me in the eyes many times,” McGonagall said. “I didn’t pay much attention to it, as I’m under the impression it is not customary in many Nordic societies. She studied everything else in my office very carefully, to the point I sometimes felt she was hardly listening to what I was saying. I thought that she was perhaps prone to daydreaming.” 

“Hm,” Harry said, scribbling in his journal. “And after the interview, what was your impression? Did you find her competent enough to hire?”

“I did,” McGonagall said, “though I didn’t tell her that. I said to her I would owl her that same evening. That’s why I was surprised to find that she hadn’t yet left by the time I was done talking with Mr. Scamander.” 

“I suppose Scamander would have noticed the body on the way in, if Toadsworth had been killed just as she had left your office.” 

“Indeed. So she must have stayed a while, and been killed while Scamander was in my office.” 

“Hm.”

Harry frowned, reviewing his notes. 

“I think that would be all for now,” he said and got up, and Draco did the same. “Thank you, McGonagall. I will get to the bottom of this.”

“Please make haste,” the Headmistress said, standing up to see them out. “The parents of the students are bombarding me with letters, and no less than four students have already been pulled out of the school entirely to be sent overseas to Ilvermorny. Can you imagine?” 

Harry nodded. 

“I trust Scamander is still in the castle?”

“I’m under the impression he was placed in the library to wait for further questioning.” 

“Very well. We take our leave then,” Harry said.

“What do you think?” Draco said as they walked the corridors, heading towards the library. They passed by several Aurors and other officials from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, recognizable by a badge they all wore with the letters “DMLE” embossed on it. They all nodded to Harry and he nodded back, but didn’t respond to their attempts at small-talk. Draco wasn’t sure if he was just imagining it, but it felt like many of the officials and Aurors were surprised to see him with Harry. It was unthinkable they wouldn’t have known about Harry’s marriage, as someone had leaked that information to none other than Rita Skeeter a mere few months ago. The headlines had been most imaginative, but they paled in comparison to the articles themselves, which described elaborate (and expensive) celebrations in vivid detail, none of which had actually taken place. Draco doubted their Magistrate counter-wedding could have been twisted to look so grand, even if by some miracle both of their families would have attended.

“It isn’t looking good for Scamander so far,” Harry said as they turned a corner. “He has a very good alibi, and that makes him look all the more suspicious. And who’s to say he couldn’t have killed Toadsworth on his way out and just ran back to McGonagall’s office?” 

“McGonagall did say he looked pale,” Draco said.

“Many people are pale,” Harry said, “but that doesn’t mean they’re incapable of murder. Of course, there’s no pointing fingers before I’ve mapped out who else was in the castle.” 

“Why didn’t you ask McGonagall?”

“Oh, that - my assistant will have taken care of that. I have her ask all the routine questions.” 

“I see,” Draco said, a smile lingering in the corner of his mouth. “So you’re just the artisté.” 

“Hardly,” Harry said. “Oh, here she comes now.”

Harry suddenly stopped and turned towards Draco so that he couldn’t see the person walking towards them from the other end of the corridor. 

“She seems to have gotten it into her head that you flirt with her,” Harry said. “Try not to encourage her, will you?” 

Draco nearly snorted. 

“Excuse me?” He said, smiling in disbelief. “But I haven’t-”

Harry wheeled around to greet his assistant, who had already reached them. 

She was a cheerful, bleach-blonde Auror, and cute as a button as far as Draco was concerned. That is, on the same basis that he considered kittens cute - they had big eyes, they were small, and unmistakably harmless. 

Her name was Guinevere Harding, but everyone called her Gwen. She was on the shorter, rounder side as far as body types go, and there was a buoyancy in the way she walked from one place to the next that made everyone watching jealous of her good spirits. And if that wasn’t yet enough, well - she also had freckles on her nose. 

“Why, hello you,” she said, clearly surprised to see Draco there. “Merry Christmas!” 

“Not as merry of an occasion as we would have hoped,” Draco said. “But yes. Merry Christmas.” 

“Well would you look at that suit,” Gwen said. “Now I feel underdressed.”

“In that uniform?” Draco laughed. “Impossible.” 

“Yes, ehm-” Harry said. “The file? I trust you have it?”

“Oh, yes, it’s all in there,” Gwen said, handing Harry a file with the familiar Ministry emblem. “I interviewed everyone present before you arrived, so you should find all the basics in there.”

“And the body?” 

“I requested they leave it until you arrive. The department healer did visit, to make sure she is… well, dead.” 

“Good. Did they give an estimate of the time of death?” 

“At midday, give or take half an hour,” Gwen said. “I say, we simply must go to Hogsmeade to celebrate Christmas together after we’re all done for the day! It’s been ages since I step foot in the Three Broomsticks.” 

“I don’t see why not,” Draco said. “I’m under the impression we’re staying there as well.” 

“Yes, well... We’ll see,” Harry said. “Did you notice anyone suspicious in the people who were here at the time of the murder?” 

“Not really,” Gwen said. “Almost everyone was a part of the regular staff. Although, it surprised me that Mr. Nott was here, too. Apparently tending to the dragon incident.” 

“Theodore Nott?” Draco said. “I didn’t know he works in the Magical Creature department.”

“He was transferred recently,” Harry said. “He made some questionable decisions when he was with the Law Enforcement department. Not enough to sack him, but…”

“They thought he would be less trouble there,” Gwen said, and her eyes twinkled as she looked up at Draco. 

“I see,” Draco said. “Would it be forward of me to assume that makes him of the suspects?”

“Everyone who was here is a suspect,” Harry said. 

They arrived at the library. 

“Mr. Scamander is inside,” Gwen said. “I can wait out here with Draco, if you’d like to-”

“No, I do believe you’re required inside,” Harry said. “In fact, why don’t you wait for me there?” 

“Yes, sir,” Gwen said. “Catch you later, Draco.” 

Draco couldn’t stop smiling once Gwen had left. 

“What?” Harry said. “What’s with the grin?” 

“Is it just me,” Draco said, stepping closer to Harry, “or is Mr. Potter feeling just a tiny bit jealous today?” 

Without warning, Harry pressed Draco against the wall, perhaps just to interrupt his teasing. 

“I did ask you not to encourage her,” Harry said, cocking his brow.

“Are you always this easily provoked when you’re at work?” Draco said, tilting his head. He ran a finger along Harry’s jawline. “I should come along more often.”

Harry didn’t answer. He was looking at Draco, and at his lips, and probably fighting back an urge that wasn’t appropriate to have at work. No wonder, really. It had been a while.

“Ordering your little assistant around like that,” Draco continued, keeping his voice low and dragging. “Come now. That won’t do, will it? Gwen’s a good girl. I know one when I see one. And it’s not her fault I’m good-looking.” 

“I can’t let her lose focus. This is serious.”

“Oh, I see. But it’s not her who’s losing focus now, is it, Harry?” 

Harry stayed silent again, and his eyes wandered.

“What?” Draco said. He leaned in and murmured against Harry’s ear. “You wish you could fuck me right here against the wall, huh?”

Harry let out a breath against Draco’s neck, leaning his palm against the cool stone wall behind Draco, and Draco knew at that point he could have made Harry come just by talking. 

“Well if it isn’t the Potters,” Theodore Nott said. He stood where two hallways met, apparently having stopped there to watch. “You certainly look like you’re enjoying yourselves. I didn’t realize we were to bring our families to work on Christmas.” 

Harry sighed and pulled back.

“Hello, Theodore,” he said. “Glad you could make it. I’m sure you understand that I’ll need to have a chat with you before you leave.”

“Certainly,” Theodore said. “Yes, I have nothing but time to stand around here waiting for you to finish wanking each other so you might question me about the murder. I wonder what your supervisor would say if he knew?”

“I’m sure Spencer would be very amused to hear whatever you have to say after you all but blackmailed your supervisor into giving you that promotion last year,” Harry said. He didn’t seem overjoyed to see Theodore, but nor was he as agonized by his very existence as he had been during their Darthorn years. Now, more than anything, Harry seemed uninterested in his opinions.

“I rather think that's up to the people who are stupid enough to do things that can be used against them,” Theodore said. His gaze fixed on Draco, and he smirked. “Why so serious, Malfoy? Potter got your tongue?”

“You do seem to take pride in knowing what everyone is up to,” Draco said. “There’s a name for that, you know.” 

“Oh?”

“Voyeurism, if I'm not mistaken. Look it up, I think you’ll find material to keep yourself occupied over the holidays.” 

Theodore’s hands balled up into fists.

“Alright then, I ought not to keep Scamander waiting,” Harry said. “You’ll be up next, Theodore, don’t worry.” 

“Don’t tell me you’re having Malfoy do interrogations with you now?” Theodore scoffed. “I don’t want to imagine your methods, if that’s the case.”

“Wishful thinking, my friend,” Draco said. “I was just about to have a walk outside, isn’t that right?” 

“Right,” Harry said. “The murderer could still be in the castle,” he continued, lowering his voice. “Or someone else. It wouldn’t be the first time someone broke in.”

“I’ll be on my guard,” Draco said. “I’ll go straight to the Three Broomsticks, yeah?”

“Yeah. Good. And stay there.” 

“Yes sir,” Draco said, smirking as he parted with Harry. He didn’t feel the need to look back at his expression, as it was one he remembered well. It was one that usually led to pleasant situations, but it was possible this time would be different. There was no saying how long all the interrogations would take.

Draco ventured outside and behind the castle, grateful for the fresh air and the absence of people. He let his eyes rest on the familiar landscape; the tall silhouette of the Owlery within the mist; the faint light glimmering in the window of the groundskeeper's hut; and on his right, the Great Lake, though most of it disappeared into the fog. Seeing this place didn’t cause as much dread as he had expected. Perhaps enough time had finally passed since his school years, perhaps enough of those memories filled with panic and torment had been replaced with good ones.

Draco wandered in between the greenhouses. The glass walls were lifeless, and the gray weather had brought about an eerie atmosphere to the place. It didn’t bother Draco - that is, until he saw movement inside one of the greenhouses. His fingers curled around the wand in the pocket of his coat, although it was most likely just Professor Sprout tending to some plants. Draco stared at the figure, and before long he realized the person inside was far too tall to be Sprout, and had broad shoulders. A man, if Draco’s eyes didn’t betray him. Could it be Neville? Draco knew he had begun teaching alongside Sprout some years ago, but it still seemed strange that he would stay at Hogwarts for the holidays. The figure moved and Draco crouched, but too late - the person inside turned around and saw him. But Draco saw him too, and realized there was nothing to be afraid of. 

“Blimey, you scared me,” Longbottom said as he stepped out of the door. He was wearing an apron and was drying his hands on it. Blue stains were left behind on the fabric, but that gave Draco no clue as to what he had been up to. 

It had been a few years since they had last met, and the years had been kind to Neville Longbottom. He looked the same as he had at Darthorn, except now it was clear to see from his arms and from his posture that he had been hard at work for many years. 

“You shouldn’t be walking out here alone with a murderer lurking about,” Longbottom said.

“You’re alone, too,” Draco noted. 

“Fair point. I suppose I’ve been talking to the Mandrakes too much… Why are you here, anyway? It’s Christmas.” 

“Oh, I know,” Draco said. “Harry was assigned the Toadsworth case.” 

“Oh… Sorry to hear that,” Neville said, wheeling around. “It’s freezing out here. Want to chat inside? That way we’ll be safe from any murderer, too, I reckon.” 

Longbottom returned inside, not waiting for Draco to answer. Unable to come up with a reason to refuse, Draco followed him. 

“Nasty business, that Toadsworth thing,” Neville said as Draco closed the greenhouse door behind him. The air inside was very thick and moist, and the scent of wet dirt took Draco right back to Herbology lessons.

“Yes,” Draco said. “On Christmas of all days… I still can’t believe we’re here.” 

Neville raised his brows, and Draco realized it wasn’t the timing of the murder Neville thought nasty, it was the murder itself. 

“She was a great professor from what I hear,” Draco said quickly. “Shame. Real shame.” 

“I don’t understand who would do such a thing.”

“Well, she did use to be an Auror. It’s one way to gain a lot of enemies.” 

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right…” 

“Why are _you_ here, anyway? On Christmas, I mean?” Draco said. 

“Someone has to look after the plants,” Neville said. “Professor Sprout was glad to go, and I was glad to stay.” 

“Oh... But who did it before you came here?” 

Neville stayed silent for a moment, and then he gave a brief smile.

“The house elves. But I wasn’t in the mood to see my grandmother.”

“Sorry. I don’t mean to pry.” 

“No matter,” Neville said. “She’s old, and with every passing year she gets nastier. And recently her memory’s started failing… I just can’t deal with it all right now. I’d rather be here now that it’s calm, for once. Silent.” 

“I know what you mean,” Draco said. He was used to nasty relatives, but they weren’t the kind of people one would be wise to mention in the presence of Neville Longbottom. 

“I suppose you and Harry had to cancel plans, then? Because of the murder.”

“Yeah, we-” Then, seemingly out of nowhere, Draco sneezed.

“Bless you,” Neville said. “Did you catch a cold out there?”

“I don’t think so,” Draco said. He blinked a few times, but his eyes kept watering for some reason.

“Maybe you’re allergic to something in here?” 

“Not that I’m aware of,” Draco said, but then sneezed again. His lungs felt like they were full of stinging nettle all of a sudden.

Neville handed him a gray rag that Draco suspected represented a tissue. He nodded as thanks, not really knowing what else to do.

“You sure?” Neville asked.

“Knotgrass,” Draco said, “but that was in bloom five months ago.” 

“Ah,” Neville said. “Let’s go to number six instead. I have a patch of Knotgrass in here.” 

“I didn’t know you could grow it out of season,” Draco said, following Neville to the greenhouse opposite of them. 

“Greenhouses are always in season,” Neville said. “That’s what I like about them. But you’re not the first one to wonder about it. That Professor Toadsworth was interested in it, too.” 

“Oh?” Draco said, taking a deep breath of fresh air before stepping inside the other greenhouse. The cold current still stung his lungs, but he already felt better. “She was here, then? Before she was…”

“Yes,” Neville said. “She said she had always heard great things about the Hogwarts greenhouses, so she wanted to visit them before leaving. She said nothing grows from where she’s from, not even in greenhouses. So I showed her around, and she was very impressed with my Knotgrass.”

“So you were perhaps the last person she spoke to?” 

“I hope not,” Neville said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Not much of a conversation, that. Not that I don’t like talking about plants, but… I was rushing it. I had somewhere to be that day.” 

“Oh?” Draco said. “Where?”

Neville’s cheeks flushed. 

“Nowhere, really. Had to… pick something up from Hogsmeade.” 

“Alright,” Draco said, unable to hold back his knowing smile. Now this _was_ interesting. 

“Urgently,” Neville continued.

“So you saw someone, anyway? In Hogsmeade? I’m asking because that would be a very good thing. You would have an alibi.” 

“Oh- oh, yes, of course,” Neville said, as if the thought of him being one of the suspects hadn’t crossed his mind at all. “Yes, I was with someone, sh- Do you think I’ll have to prove it? Get a statement from that person or something?” 

Draco shrugged. 

“You’ll have to ask Harry. He’s the Grand Investigator, not me.” 

Neville chuckled.

"Why are you in a suit, by the way? Or do you just... Dress like that, now?" 

"I'm afraid not," Draco said. "Harry and I were supposed to go over to the Weasleys for dinner when all of this happened. It's a shame, really. I was looking forward to it. Not the Weasleys in particular, but just... Going somewhere with him. With Harry."

“I suppose he’s very busy with work a lot of the time.”

This caught Draco a little off guard. 

“Yes, he… Yes. Very.”

“Hm.”

Neville turned to look at a big potted plant with spotty leaves, perhaps to help Draco feel more at ease with the subject of discussion. 

“I always see it in the papers,” Neville said while he gently inspected the leaves of the plant. “Case after case after case… It doesn’t surprise me anymore. Harry has always been someone who has to sacrifice a lot to feel worthy, but I had hoped…”

“Yes?”

“I had hoped he would find another kind of meaning. Like I did.” 

The words hit Draco hard, and for a moment it felt like everything he had been bottling up would burst out of him any second now. His eyes wandered the floor. 

“Me too,” Draco said after a while. “I’m so tired of the running. I’m tired of chasing him.”

Neville took a pair of clippers from the pocket of his apron and trimmed off a few leaves.

“My therapist once said something interesting to me,” he said. “She said we can’t save people. That we can only love them.”

“I didn’t know you’ve been in therapy.”

“I’m bloody surprised our whole year hasn’t been in therapy,” Neville huffed.

“Fair enough,” Draco said. 

“Especially you,” Neville continued. “And Harry, but, well… That goes without saying.”

“Hm.” Draco looked outside, but could see nothing but white mist and the drops of moisture rolling off the glass walls. “Suppose I already love that person,” he then said. “Suppose I do everything in my power to love him as best as I can.” 

“Then it’s up to him.” 

“And if he doesn’t… Save himself?” 

Neville turned to look at Draco, and it could be seen in his eyes that he would rather not repeat the next step.

“He will,” Neville said instead. “It may take him a while, but he will. He’s too far gone now to let the fear win.” 

“You think so?”

“I hope so,” Neville said, put the clippers back in his pocket and stepped back to take a good look at the plant. “I always hope people realize what’s really important before it’s too late. Not many of us get that chance.” 

"But sometimes, what at one point seemed impossible to obtain becomes normal. And we start to take it for granted. That’s just human nature, right? Or I should like to think it is," Draco said, "because if not, then I am surely as wretched as I am ungrateful."

Neville sighed.

“What would we know of normal, Draco?” He said. “We children of the war. We do as we must, and if we find a moment of contentment somewhere, then I say we’ve been the lucky ones.”


	3. Consequences, consequences...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Draco get a moment alone at the Three Broomsticks, but after that it's back to work for Harry. Meanwhile, Draco has time to run into all sorts of people, and all sorts of information...

The cheapest room at the Three Broomsticks was tucked away in the very back of the first floor, which overlooked the pub from behind wooden railings. Draco remembered frequenting the pub during his Hogwarts years, and he recalled especially well the feeling of looking up at the first floor and wondering what kind of people they were - the ones who came to visit Hogsmeade and stayed a while. The village contained nothing out of the ordinary, apart from Honeydukes and the charm that was unique to quaint little places like these in the mountains, especially in the winter due to the heavy snowfall. This was not the case with the Southern parts of the United Kingdom, where rain and mist reigned during the winter months. Had it been a place for Muggles, the snow might have been a point of interest in itself. To wizards, of course, such a thing was much more trivial, and as Draco was sitting there, on the wide windowsill of that cramped chamber and looked at the snowflakes falling down, he came to a realization. He was now one of the visitors in Hogsmeade, and that had made him none the wiser. There was no knowing if all the other visitors had felt so vague and lost, too. Perhaps it was a resting place for those who wandered, either as a hobby or because they had no other choice. 

Although the room was small, it had a distinct feeling of warmth to it, one that Draco wished he knew how to replicate in his own home. All he had known growing up were cold stone and grand staircases and rooms where children weren’t allowed in. There had been a time in his life when he had thought that children would surely not be allowed in his own home, either, but that had changed after he had met Harry’s godson, Teddy. The boy was nine years old now, which Draco found hard to believe. Not that he didn’t look it, of course - it just baffled Draco how he had changed so much in so little time, while he himself had remained the same. Or perhaps that was wishful thinking. 

The room was just large enough to fit a bed and a small dresser with an oil lamp on it. The bed was comfortable, Draco had decided after throwing himself on it, but the ceiling slanted so that there were few corners in the room where he could stand up straight. Draco took out the enchanted book he had brought with him and opened it where he had last folded the corner of a page (a bad habit he had picked up from Harry) and dropped the book with a flinch. At first he thought there were small bugs climbing all over the book, but then realized it was the words spilling out. They floated about and stuck to everything like static lint, and Draco spent the next fifteen minutes trying to get a particularly stubborn “impartial” off the quilted bedspread. When he finally succeeded, it didn’t take him long to realize that he was still no victor. The words were all over his hands, his trousers, probably even his face, and to his horror he found that Scourgify wasn’t enough to get rid of them. This had happened to him a lot as a child when he hadn’t yet learned the correct amount of books one book could contain, but he couldn't, for the life of him, remember what his mother had used to make the words disappear. He grabbed a towel from the chair next to the window and scrubbed his hands with it, but the words wouldn’t budge; they might as well have been printed on his skin. He groaned and sat down to inspect the book. About one fourth of the pages were empty now, and as much as he tried, he couldn’t get any words to stick on it unless he wrote some down himself. He had trouble understanding what could’ve gone so wrong with the enchantment, but then, Transfiguration never had been one of his strong suits.

And as if the humiliation of sitting there with “and”s and “the”s and “there”s all over him wasn’t enough, someone knocked on the door. 

Draco sighed.

“Yes?”

It was Harry. 

“Merlin,” he said as he closed the door after himself, “what happened?” 

“N-” Draco silenced himself before the word escaped him. “Nothing” would hardly cut it now. “I may have fucked up a spell,” he then said. 

“Yes, you have that look about you,” Harry said and crouched down in front of Draco to inspect his hands. Draco found himself unexpectedly flustered at this.

“S- So how did the interrogations go?” He said. 

“Like they always do,” Harry said, pulled out his wand from his coat and flicked it. The words didn’t disappear. “Strange. I did have to ask Theodore to wait until tomorrow. Scamander took a while and then I had to inspect the body since they’re taking it away tomorrow afternoon.” 

“Anything interesting?” Draco said. “On the body?” 

“Yes,” Harry said, turning Draco’s hand in his own like a healer inspecting a wound, “and no. She seemed very ordinary. Well, for a dead person. But it bothers me that she didn’t have anything in her pockets.”

“Maybe the one who killed her emptied them?” 

“Maybe,” Harry said and looked up at Draco. The tone in his voice was out of place considering it was murder they were discussing. 

“Did you try the smudge-removing charm?” Harry said before Draco had time to verbally question the strange atmosphere. In a small gesture, he shook his head. 

“ _Protero atramento_ ,” Harry said, pointing his wand at Draco’s palm. Just like the abundant amounts of spilled and smudged ink in their school years, be it on clothes, on furniture, on parchment, the words faded and disappeared. 

“There,” Harry said and patted Draco’s thigh, “all better.” 

They shared a brief moment of eye contact, and then Harry tilted his head and said:

“You’re blushing, Draco.”

“Am not,” Draco said, giving a scoff that unfortunately came out too small to be taken seriously. “Don’t be ridiculous.” 

“Is it because I’m kneeling like this?” Harry said, a wry smile lingering in the corner of his mouth. “What are you thinking about?”

“Are you really not tired of asking questions after today?” 

“Not if it’s to tease you.” 

“Oh? Well, aren’t you a horny boy today- mnh-”

Harry silenced Draco with a kiss much more ardent than what Draco was accustomed to these days - it started with Harry pulling Draco closer by the back of his neck, and then making him stay there, stay still while Harry had his way around his mouth, and in it. When Harry pulled back, Draco found himself breathless and a little dumbfounded.

“Is that all it takes to surprise you these days?” Harry drawled. Clearly he was very pleased with himself now.

“Shut u-”

“Apparently it’s all it takes to make you hard, too,” Harry continued, ignoring Draco’s attempt at a comeback and laid his hand where the fabric of Draco’s trousers was pulled taut. Involuntarily, Draco’s breath hitched a little, his back arching at the touch. 

“You-”

“Let me have it in my mouth,” Harry said.

Draco’s expression froze. This was unusually straightforward of Harry, and it wasn’t helping the situation that Harry was still in his uniform, that uniform which he never wore around the house, at least not with his hair down like this, like a lion, and he looked…

“You don’t want me to?” 

“What?” Draco said. “No, I do, I just-”

“You know, it’s funny,” Harry said while he slid out of his coat, “I always thought you didn’t like me in my work clothes, but judging by your reaction to all this…” 

“Did I get you this worked up earlier?” Draco said, his mind scrambling for the right buttons to push, for some purchase on the situation. The truth was that deep within his mind, married or not, there was still only one thing that could drive him over an edge, to abandon all efforts of restraint, and that was being second best to Harry Potter. And he had no intention of doing that.

“I don’t know what else you expected to achieve,” Harry said as he worked open the buttons on Draco’s trousers, one by one. Draco opened his mouth to say something, but his eyes followed Harry’s actions. The man’s every movement burned, dripping straight into Draco’s erection which was now separated from Harry’s fingers only by the fabric of his boxers. 

“You were saying?” Harry said. His voice was soft and low and fell like liquid, and he was taking his time. 

“I was saying,” Draco said, leaned forward and let his fingers sink into Harry’s hair, securing a grip at the back of his head and gently tugging to get Harry to look up at him, “that while I appreciate the effort, this is a poor attempt at covering up your jealousy.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re referring to,” Harry said with a smile. 

Draco smiled too, but let it melt into a deathly calm expression as he tilted his head and dragged his thumb over Harry’s bottom lip. 

“Gwen is very pretty,” Draco admitted as he slid that same finger into Harry’s mouth, carefully holding back from showing any kind of reaction when Harry’s tongue brushed past it, “and surely she could have anyone she likes.” 

A moment of eye contact. Draco let Harry hang in there for a while, taking in the visual of Auror Potter on his knees, and then said:

“But you’re forgetting that so can I. And I’m having _you_.”

And not five minutes later Harry had him in his mouth, just like he had asked, and Draco was putting all his effort into not coming yet, but Merlin it had been a while and he _was so close_ and Harry must have known it, because when he pulled back every once in a while to catch his breath his eyes were fixed on Draco. He was enjoying Draco’s expression, dazed and desperate for release, or so Draco assumed, but he seemed to be in no hurry to give it to him. 

“Don’t come yet,” Harry said before going down again, swallowing around Draco in a way that roused something between a yelp and a moan from him. The inside of Harry’s mouth was so hot, and the back of his throat, whenever he grazed it, so tight, that Draco thought he might lose it if he couldn’t come, and he leaned his head back, covering his eyes with his hands as he groaned. 

“What the hell do you mean, ‘don’t come’,” he hissed in between hitched breaths. “If you keep doing that, I’ll-”

“You really thought I’d let you off easy after what you pulled earlier?” While Harry pulled back to say that, he ran his finger just around the tip of Draco’s cock - Merlin, that was _good_ \- and then stopped giving him any friction whatsoever. At this point Draco was starting to be delirious enough that he might have actually started begging, but then, luckily, Harry took him in his mouth again. Only, now he pressed his lips tight around the tip for a while, rolling his tongue over and back, and then stopped again, raising his brows at Draco like presenting a challenge. 

“Alright, I’m sorry, my bad, won't happen again, now could I-”

“Draco - darling - look at me.” Now there was a hitch in Harry's breath, one that told Draco he was probably touching himself down where Draco couldn't see.

Draco did as he had asked, though at this point any word out of Harry, any fracture of a movement would have been enough to send him tumbling over the edge. 

“I’d like you to beg for it,” Harry said calmly, though he shuddered ever so slightly as if in anticipation. And then he waited.

Draco’s breath wavered on the edge of a moan as his gaze met the ceiling, and he thought about how this man was going to drive him mad, irreversibly and utterly mad, and said:

“Please, Harry - _fuck,_ please, _please_ -”

And that was enough. 

The following morning, Draco was sitting on one of the stone benches that lined many of the hallways in Hogwarts. He was writing in his broken, enchanted book while toying with the triangular shape of the amulet beneath his shirt. At first he had decided to use the empty pages to sketch on, but then a few images of hallways and Nearly Headless Nick, who was very fond of the idea of modelling for a picture, Draco grew tired of drawing and started to write. At first it was just a few scribbles to test his cursive, and then he found himself writing about all sorts of things that he had thought about over the years. The castle around him seemed to fade, and he only became aware of it again when he heard Theodore Nott speaking. Draco didn’t know how much time had passed, and he would have preferred it that way instead of whatever argument Theo was undoubtedly looking to get into.

“You writing a book about what it’s like to be married to the Chosen One?” Theodore said. Draco smiled at him, though the expression contained no good intent. 

“Yes,” he said. “You’re not in it.”

“Good. I wouldn’t be caught dead associating with your kind.”

“And yet, here you are. What do you want?”

“Thought I’d ask you what the hell is taking so long,” Theodore said. “They told me Potter went straight to re-inspect the body. 

“Maybe he realized something,” Draco said and shrugged. “He’s like that. He’ll show up eventually.” 

“Some of us have jobs, though,” Theodore huffed. “I don’t have time for ‘eventually’.”

“Yes, I know the feeling,” Draco said. “I can assure you, if it were up to us, we wouldn’t be here in the first place.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Have you _met_ Harry Potter? He’s the Golden Boy of the whole department. The man would arrest his own mother if it meant being praised by his supervisors, and the media. Well, you know what I mean.”

“I’m sure I don’t,” Draco said.

“Then you’re thicker than you look. I don’t care what they say about him retiring, he doesn’t have it in him.” 

“Shut up, will you? You don’t know him. Besides, why do you even care? You’re not in his department.”

“Oh, definitely not, not after I had to resort to some, well, alternative means to look like anything next to that git. I don’t know him, you say? Then explain to me why he hasn’t yet declined the offer. If he really planned to retire, he would’ve done that as soon as-”

“What offer?” Draco said. 

Theodore looked at him, and then he started laughing.

“Oh, now this is something,” he said, greedily taking in his newfound upper hand. “The blockhead didn’t have the balls to tell you, did he?” 

“Tell me what, exactly, Theo?” 

“To tell you, my asshat friend, that he was offered a promotion to Head of the Department last October. They gave him until New Year’s to consider.”

Fuming, his mind racing so that he heard buzzing in his ears, he walked hallways he didn’t see until he found himself in the Dungeons, standing before the open door of the Potions classroom. He fantasized for a moment of brewing Essence of Insanity, or even Cough potion or any simple concoction that might take his mind off of the mess at hand, and then he stopped to wonder why the door was open. Then he heard a faint clink coming from inside the classroom, and when he listened for a bit longer, the gentle humming of something boiling at low heat.

“Do come in, Neville,” a woman’s voice said in an accent Draco didn’t quite recognize, though he liked to think he had become decent with accents after working at a pharmacy for so long. “As you very well know, I don’t bite unless prompted.” Perhaps Zimbabwean? Or Nigerian? Definitely African, either way. But that was besides the point, because the woman inside clearly thought Draco was Neville, which was a misconception he quite wanted to correct. He stepped inside the classroom. 

Inside, a woman was tending to a cauldron, and from the smell in the air and the ingredients at hand Draco instantly realized that she was brewing Pepperup Potion. 

“Ah, you’re not Neville after all,” the woman said with a wide smile on her face. She was quite young, and she had a dark complexion that made her skin glow like satin. She wore her hair up, wrapped in a patterned scarf, and her robes were very colourful. 

“Sorry to disappoint,” Draco said. “Are you the Potions Master?” 

“Ah, no,” she said. “That would be Mr. Slughorn. I’m his apprentice until he retires. However, right now he’s in bed with a cold, so right now it can be said I’m the Potions Master. What is your name?” 

“Draco,” Draco said. “Draco Black, though a lot of people call me Potter, too.” 

“I know who you are! Neville told me about you. My name is Maita Wataida, Draco. And you’re an alchemist, then?”

“Yes, I-”

“Well, how is my form?” 

Draco smiled as was polite and carefully peeked into the cauldron. 

“Looks good,” he said. “If a bit heavy on the Mandrake.”

“Oh no, that would be the ginger. You don’t use it here?” 

“Not for this potion, usually, but… Well, to me it would only make sense. Just the smell is making me feel better.” 

“Are you feeling poorly too, Draco?” 

“No, I - so how come you thought I was Neville just now?” 

“He comes around sometimes,” Maita said quizzically and added in the crushed Bicorn horn. Just a bit early for Draco’s taste, though he tried not to notice this. He supposed it was one of those professional things. 

“Are you sure you’re quite alright, Draco? You look a bit blue.” 

“It’s just my complexion, I’m sure,” Draco said and gave a formal nod. “I’ll be off then, professor Wataida.” 

“Goodbye, Draco. Give Neville my regards, should you run into him up there.” 

“Certainly.” 

Draco had only just reached the ground floor again when he ran into Theodore Nott. Again. Only this time, the man looked like he had seen a ghost or quite possibly turned into one. He was coming from the direction of the Caretaker's Office, and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Draco. 

“That bad, was it?” Draco said, even though in that moment he detested the man so much he could have jinxed him on the spot. The worst thing was, of course, that it wasn't even his error that had upset Draco. 

“What?” Theodore said, staring at Draco like he had suddenly grown three spare heads. 

“The interrogation. Was it that bad?”

“Oh, no, it was - it went very well.” Theodore’s eyes then fixed somewhere below Draco’s neck, and he glanced down to see if he had messed up the buttons, but nothing was out of place. Admittedly, the shirt was a bit wrinkly. Maybe he had a hickey? Merlin, he hadn’t had one of those in... well, months, if not years. 

“It went fine,” Theodore repeated, looked quickly at Draco’s eyes and then down again, as if the eye contact had been simply insufferable to him. What on Earth could have made him so angry? “And you can piss off, for all I care.” And with that, he stormed out through the main entrance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sincerely hope AO3 doesn't send out notifications when I change the rating of my work. If that's the case, I'm so so sorry! I've been hovering between mature and explicit for some time and I don't know how anything works, but now I've settled on explicit. On another note, thank you so much for reading! :>


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